“Just changing the engine oil will cost me 120m bolivars,” said Alvarez, adding that he had lost so many clients that his earnings no longer covered routine maintenance of his silver Chevrolet sedan.

The country’s average income is 5m bolivars, which at the official rate is approximately £31 ($41) – though very few people have access to that rate in practice and resort to the black market, where they get about £1.

Now, the government is attempting to alleviate the fuel crisis with a nationwide census of vehicles, and though officials have not been forthcoming with specific details, the president, Nicolás Maduro, has said it will lead to “rational” fuel use.

Alvarez remains unconvinced. “Like all the decisions Maduro has taken since coming to power, the idea of the census is crazy,” he said.

In order to register their vehicles under the new census, which began last Friday, car owners must use a government-issued “fatherland card” to log details and fuel consumption online, before lining up at government offices to complete the process.

That card, which was introduced late last year, is also used to access government-run food distribution programs and was reportedly required to claim cash rewards for voting for Maduro’s re-election in May. Many Venezuelans have refused to get the card, fearing it is a mechanism for government control.

Maduro, who blames the country’s woes on an “economic war” waged by the US and Europe, has continued to tighten his grip on the power he inherited from Hugo Chávez, Venezuela’s charismatic leader who died of cancer in 2013.

More than 100 people died in angry anti-government protests last year, and Maduro’s May election victory was labelled a sham by the opposition and other countries. Observers fear a further crackdown could be imminent following an alleged attempt to assassinate Maduro with bomb-laden drones on Saturday.

Some opposition lawmakers have said that the vehicle census, announced before Saturday’s problems, could be a precursor to fuel rationing. Others fear the measures are another step towards authoritarianism.

“I think the census is a mockery – a trap with political overtones,” Luis Jaen, a taxi driver in Maracay, a city 76 miles west of Caracas, said. “They want to gather electronic data on every person so they have more control over citizens, and to blackmail those who oppose these measures and the government.”

Lisette Sánchez, a bus owner and driver in Caracas, has not worked for over a month, while her bus sits on threadbare tyres in a carpark. “I have no words to describe how I feel,” she said. “The tyres could blow at any time; it could be dangerous for me and my passengers.”

Meanwhile, the bolivar, Venezuela’s currency, is practically worthless, with the International Monetary Fund (IMF) predicting that inflation will reach one million per cent by the end of the year.

When parts are available, they are prohibitively expensive. “A repaired tyre costs 450 million bolivars ($130 on the black market) while a new one is a billion ($285),” Sánchez said. “A bus needs seven of them – we would need years of work to pay for it.”

Sánchez’s bus is not the only one out of service. Transport union leaders estimate that in just two years the country’s fleet of 280,000 passenger buses has dwindled to 30,000.

Commuters now rely on flatbed trucks fitted with metal railings, popularly known as “dog-carts”. The National Assembly – led by the opposition and sidelined by Maduro last year in favour of a more pliant Constituent Assembly – claims that 55 people have died and 275 been injured while traveling in these vehicles.

Even a rise in oil prices, which are low globally, would not be much help to the embattled country, experts warn.

“Venezuela’s problems are so profound that even the increase in crude prices can’t improve its industry’s situation,” Lejla Villar, an EIA analyst, told a local website in July. “They don’t have trained personnel; they don’t have rigs or parts.”

Those who still own vehicles are struggling to keep them running.

On a recent evening, Norma Gutiérrez, an elderly radiologist, was waiting outside a warehouse in the north of Caracas so that she could buy a replacement car battery.

“I’m not even sure I’ll get one by the time I reach the front of the queue,” she said, after five hours in the line. “If things continue like this, I’ll have to walk everywhere.”

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